


to jump into secrets we have never met.

by Prettything_uglylie



Series: yes i'm back on my criminal minds bullshit [8]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e12 Soul Mates, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettything_uglylie/pseuds/Prettything_uglylie
Summary: Derek Morgan is interrogating William Harris but the conversation brings a new direction to his mind.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Series: yes i'm back on my criminal minds bullshit [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599058
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	to jump into secrets we have never met.

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching the episode and honestly, how could I not? There's so much there and it's so good to have them all feel it but anyways, that episode's queerbaiting HURTS

William Harris is a scumbag of a human being, Morgan believes it would be an understatement to the other black man as he sits across from him. Approaching his late forties and with a daughter the same age, William Harris pursues young teenage girls and rapes and murders them but Morgan -- Morgan is a profiler. 

From the second he and Rossi enter the interrogation room, there is something off. 

He's too smug. 

Too sure of himself. 

Even - he has to swallow, take a breath - Buford had sweat a bit when he thought he was getting away with it. 

Something is painfully off with William Harris, and Morgan thinks insomnia will plague him painfully until he figures out what it is. 

* * *

It is two hours into the interview with Missy's body having turned up in terrible condition and after forging an email with Reid, he sits across from the black man with his spine stiff and his muscles wound tight as he feels himself ready to jump at the other man's throat and tear out that one artery in the throat that Reid went on about cutting the amount of time it takes to bleed out in half - he doesn't know why he remembers Reid's tilted up eyebrows, his obscenely wide eyes and his wild, gesturing hands. Reid was like that, Morgan learned, he could talk about Dahmer's polaroids and still look like a young boy after a scolding. This had once led him, staring at his ceiling in pitch black darkness as Reid's even breathes fall and rise in the catacombs of Dr. Spencer Reid's chest in the bed next to his playing a rattling tune that had haunted his mind, to wondering if Reid could pour filth out of that runway mouth and still look like it was his first time being naked in front of another human being but he had shut that thought up quickly. 

He shakes his head at the thought then, too - because whenever he thinks about that night, he thinks about those thoughts. 

Whenever he thinks about that boy, he thinks about those thoughts. 

Maybe Reid is right - he always wins. Even if you fall and have bet everything on it, it still feels like Reid is the one winning. 

Maybe that's what Derek Morgan's type of love is. 

Maybe he shouldn't put it under a microscope like that. 

"He's probably feeling pretty betrayed right about now." He states, barely paying attention to the current event unfolding but needing to plant the seed. "And if he is, what do you think he's doing about it?" 

Harris' lip twitches into a smirk. Morgan wants to choke him out with his own cuffs. Instead, he says, "William, you wrote 'thanks for the perfect place to play'," as he says the words, he thinks of Reid's silvery sotto voice saying the words as he read them and he misses the tone, "what were you talking about?" 

And then, William Harris turns to look at him and catches his eyes, holds the eye contact and it's so much worse - it is everything in him not to pull his gun from his holster in that minute. 

"Golfing." The man says and Morgan picks up on the dirtier terms for that game - Morgan knows what that can mean. 

Rossi repeats, confused, "Golfing?" 

William does not peel his eyes away from Morgan so he does not back down either. He doesn't blink, doesn't look away and this feels nothing like the staring contests he remembers from childhood - there's too much to lose here. 

"Golfing." 

He remembers the boys like him on Chicago streets, laughing themselves raw when they would say they were 'golfing' with one of the female students in their age group and he even remembers a boy named Callun Richards joking about playing golf but always ending up in the wrong hole. It always had a deeper meaning - a euphemism, Reid chimes in his brain helpfully, when they had been having a paradoxical conversation similar to something like this but without all the carnal tendencies of this one. 

"Right," he drawls, wondering if all the black boys grow up telling each other jokes about rich white people lives, if they all grew up on making pristine games dirty jokes, "what was it like?" 

Harris keeps eye contact and nods like he can see Derek getting it, "Perfect." 

* * *

" 'It's been so long my heart aches. I need to see that face again soon.' Wow." He tries not to think about thin cheekbones and delicate structures leading up to wide doe brown eyes at the prospect of 'that face' - he fails. "Well, its obvious there's an emotional connection between you two. Can't deny that." 

He shuffles the printoffs in front of the other man and waits a minute, the other man not making a move to touch them. 

"You know, William," he shifts forward to get closer to the other black man, "doesn't really sound like two buddies to me." 

He thinks of 'Pretty Boy'. He thinks of the wrath Tobias Hankel made him feel that was incomparable. He thinks of Reid's head tucking closer to him in his sleep and of Morgan placing an arm around Reid's pretty slight frame. He thinks of all of those times 

Not quite two buddies. 

"Sounds more like two men in love with each other," He doesn't know if he knows who he's talking about anymore. 

Harris smirks but his features look heavy, bothered, and the opposite of the charming man they profiled, "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're right," he leans back and he thinks - of women's long legs and their large breasts and their long hair but he keeps thinking about Reid, about his long legs and skinny frame and his pretty face. He lies, "I have absolutely no idea what's it like to be in love with another man." 

It sits heavy in his gut, a lie in the form of a glass shard dragging down his throat and into the lining of his stomach. 

"You know, everyone who goes into law enforcement has this air of moral superiority," Harris scoffs, face expressive of a man caught and offended, "You? It leaks out of every single pore. Black cop in the FBI, got a chip on your shoulder, lot to prove." 

He laughs because that is the last thing that makes them so similar. After all of that talk, after figuring it all out, Morgan is reminded that his hands are still capable of unadulterated violence and his mouth still has bones for gnawing at flesh and he thinks about what Reid's pretty mouth would look like covered in blood, if Reid would kill for him too. 

He laughs and lies because he's thinking about Pretty Boy's mouth dripping blood, "Now, who's the one who has no idea what he's talking about?" 

"We're not so different, you and I." William Harris says and Morgan fights every inch of himself not to shudder in the face of the truth. 

"The games we play, we chose because they make us feel powerful." He thinks of staring at Reid's lips, thinks of those times where he's tucked Reid's hair back or pulled it or untucked it, thinks of those times he moaned Reid's name during sex with some girl. He thinks of looking Reid in the eyes while he's on his knees, mouthing at the hem of his jeans. 

He thinks kissing Reid would feel like power alone. He doesn't let himself have it - never will. 

"So, what do you have, Special Agent Morgan?" 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you,,,, enjoy this?
> 
> Kudos and comments make me thrive!


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